


Out of the Cage

by BeaRyan



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, whore spy or victim?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 04:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeaRyan/pseuds/BeaRyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every ship in the Orgy Armada needs a story. This one takes place during the train station episode in season one.  (Not a fun little bromance story. Nearly PWP.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Cage

“Alright, Nipples,” Miles said. “Into the cage you go.” 

Jason crouched down and entered the pen. His hands were cuffed behind his back and he nearly tipped over on the way in. The general grabbed his shoulder to steady him and adjusted the cuffs, refastening them in the front. 

“We can't have you smashing up that pretty little face, now can we?”

Jason didn't answer. He'd been explicitly told that while President Monroe didn't mind other men sleeping with his husband, encouraged it in fact since “a hummer is almost as motivating as a hostage,” any man caught stealing General Matheson's affections could expect the rest of his short life to be very painful. His unit's mission was to return Miles to Philadelphia, alive and happy if possible. Success would be rewarded but applicants for a permanent position in their partnership need not apply. Flirting was discouraged. 

Jason watched as the general secured their temporary lodgings and began to understand President Monroe's obsession. It was something in the way the general moved. He was a lion, relaxed and swaggering most of the time but ready to kill or fuck in an instant. The double swords hanging from a belt casually slung low on his hips added to the effect. On most men it would look like a ridiculous affectation. On General Matheson it looked like lingerie. 

Miles rounded up his people and held a meeting just out of Jason's earshot. They gave him suspicious accusing glares, but no one moved toward him. From the way Charlie eyed him he suspected she was pleading for his life. He'd make her plead for his cock if he thought it would help, but she seemed to be the kind of girl who wanted to be chased more than she wanted to be caught. Puppy eyes for her then. General Matheson would require more direct persuasion if he wanted to live through this. Sometimes this job had its perks. 

 

Jason saw Miles's tongue dart between his teeth as he strode across the dark concrete floor towards the cage. He formed his plan, mirroring the general's body language but in a more submissive form. His own tongue snuck out to lick his lips as he held his shoulders back, confident but not aggressive. He thought he saw a subtle twitch in Miles's pants as he stopped in front of the cage door. 

“Come on back out, Nipples. It's interrogation time.”

“Why do you keep calling me Nipples?” 

Miles grabbed one of the offending nubs and pinched it viciously between his fingers. “Why do you keep pointing them at me?” 

Jason opted for silence. Miles pulled the chain between the handcuffs and led him to a separate, smaller room. The only furniture was a gray metal desk and a chair. None of the others joined them. 

“Exactly what does Bass think you have that I want?”

Jason didn't answer. 

“The curls are nice but I prefer blonds. The face is pretty but nothing special. The body is good enough but a little too beefy for my taste.”

The muscles in Jason's face twitched as he clenched his jaw in the face of scrutiny. 

“Oral,” he said. “I give great head.” 

“Really?” Miles said. “And who told you that?”

“President Monroe.”

Miles quirked an eyebrow at the news. “That's interesting, but maybe not a contest worth winning. You see Bass likes to give, likes the praise he gets for a job well done. He's not big on receiving.”

“Maybe it depends on who's doing the giving.” 

Miles swept Jason's feet from under him with one smooth kick, leaving the younger man on all fours and scrambling to recover while Miles drew his right sword. 

“Should I kill you or should I let you do something useful with that smart mouth?”

Jason tongue again darted between his lips, just brushing his teeth. He tried to look hungry as he eyed Miles, but his fear showed. He'd been warned about this. Blowing President Monroe was about stroking the ego of a wounded man through his cock. He rewarded you with moans of delight and gentle touches on your head. The general fucked your face. 

Miles undid his pants, shoving them past his knees before unceremoniously dropping into the chair. “If you want to live, get over here and earn your next breath.”

Jason inhaled and exhaled through his nose as he crawled across the floor on his hands and knees. He approached the rigid flesh with flutters in his stomach. Miles glowered at him as if accepting the blow job was a favor, an unwelcome tribute he endured as one of the duties of his job. Quickly Miles grew bored with Jason's tongue intensive technique and began giving orders. “Wrap your lips around your teeth and suck,” he barked as he grabbed Jason's head by the ears and ruthlessly moved it in a rhythm that suited him. Jason tried to use his hands on Miles only to have them slapped away. Instead he braced them, still cuffed, on the chair between Miles's legs and breathed through his nose as the General worked himself over, using Jason's face as a sex toy. 

Miles finished with a grunt, shoving Jason away from him to sprawl backwards on the floor. 

“Acceptable,” Miles said as he refastened his pants. “Not remarkable. Not enough to lure me back to Philly. Maybe not even enough to save your life.” 

The next time Jason had an opportunity to escape, he took it.

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. Let me know if you see something. Comments welcome.


End file.
